


If Ever You Should Die

by crossroadswrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Universe - Human, Florist!Cas, M/M, Murder, Necrophilia, Taxidermist!Dean, Taxidermy, shy!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Dean is a taxidermist who's head over heels with the cute florist which also happens to be his neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Ever You Should Die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrionofmywaywardson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionofmywaywardson/gifts).



> Let's get something straight: this is thirty kinds of messed up. Please head the warnings.
> 
> Title from The Bitter End by Blinf Pilot.
> 
> Also I have edited this at the best of my abillities, if there are any mistakes/typos, lemme know.
> 
> Birthday gift for Anna, I hope you like it ^u^

“Come on, Dean,” Sam begs through the speaker of his phone, voice sounding higher and more annoying than ever “come on! It’s even on your way home.”

“Sammy, I ain’t picking flowers for your girl. You get off your lazy ass and do it yourself.”

“Deeeeean,” Sam continues his whining.

“No.”

It’s not that it would be such a pain in his ass to pick up the damn flowers for Sam’s girl, the flower shop is on his way home, and if it were Thursday, he’d gladly offer to go. The thing is, it’s not Thursday, meaning Castiel is in the little flower shop two streets over with his delicate hands and dazzling smiling and outright illegal blue eyes that seem to want into Dean’s soul and grip it in his bare hands until it burns. Not in a bad way.

“Is this because of the cute florist that asked me for you the last time?”

Dean chokes on his tongue, “What?” he wheezes.

Cas asked for him? Holy hell! Holly motherfucking shitting hell! “He asked for me?” he asks, because he has to, even though he hates how much he sounds like a fourteen year old girl with a crush.

Sam laughs from the other side and really, he could punch his brother right in his smug face right about now.

“Quit it,” he barks, making Sam laugh harder “I’m hanging up now.”

“No! Come on, Dean! Please, do it for me,” Dean snorts, clearly stating that _that_ ain’t a selling point, there’s a bit of silence and Dean can just see the wheels turning in Sammy’s head “I’ll swing my mom’s and bring you pie.”

God damn it!

“And you’ll tell me what Cas said?” he prompts.

“Yeah yeah. Deal?”

Dean bites his lip and nods, before realizing how fucking dumb that was since he’s talking on his outdated flip phone and says “Yes.”

“Next time you call me a girl, I’m going to rub this on your face so freaking hard,” Sam mumbles before taking a deep breath “anyways, I went in and asked for something pretty and he asked me if I knew you ‘cause I said my name was Winchester. And then he got this dreamy look like you were his prince charming or some shit and asked if you were okay ‘cause he hasn’t seen you in a while. He also asked if you were dating anyone and I said no ‘cause you are a creepy creeper and then he got this really outraged look on his face all frown-y and squint-y and proceeded to explain how you were this adorable cuddly bear and not a total creep that plays with death things for a living, and that’s it.”

Dean takes a deep breath, because Cas is interest and that can’t be right. That just can’t be right, because holy hell this is CAS! Beautiful, kind Cas with the flowers and the little waves and small smiles and shit there was this time he bent over and Dean got a glimpse of blue satiny material, and he wears reading glasses. It’s like he was made just for Dean, hitting every kink he ever had, Jesus Christ.

“For a lawyer, you should really work on your speech,” he says instead. He swears he can hear Sam bitchface over the phone.

“Jerk,” Sammy grunts.

“Bitch,” he shoots right back “I’ll pick your goddamn flowers, but you better bring me so apple pie or there’ll be blood.”

Sam snorts once more before disconnecting the phone.

The bell over the door chimes, walking in Mrs. Redford with the money to collect her dog, a scottish little thing that used to trail after her before he kicked it. Poor Mrs. Redford couldn’t deal with “losing the poor love” like she had put it, so she had Dean make a quick work on the little fleebag. Not that Dean doesn’t like dogs, is just that he’s terrified of them ever since he was ten and a mutt almost ripped his throat out. Fucking menaces to society is what they are.

Mrs. Redford over there, still weeping and dabbing her cheeks with her handkerchief, asked if he could make the thing curled up like he used to be when the days were cold and the little thing lay in front of the fireplace.

Dean’s amazing at his job, but curled animals are a bit tricky. Getting the anatomy right and all that shtick. But like he said, he’s amazing, so he managed to make the little rabid thing look normal while laid down, head resting on his front legs and the little jacket Mrs. Redford made the poor thing wear is draped in place over his back.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful job, Dean,” she weeps some more “It’s like Mr. Buttkins is still with us.”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes, smiles a little bit wider “Thank you, Mrs. Redford.”

The old widower (that definitely didn’t weep half as much when her hubby died) takes a couple of bills out of her truly impressive due to its size handbag and puts them on the counter, patting Dean in the face a couple of times like the good boy he is and probably resisting the urge to pull out some candy from her purse.

“Could you help me carry him to the car, honey?”

Dean nods politely, slips the bills into the register and picks up the little Scottish fleebag, carrying him to Mrs. Redford black Mustang that makes _him_ want to cry every time it parks at his door.

He sets the dog in the passenger seat, waiting for Mrs. Redford to enter the car so he can wave and go back inside, but the old lady decides that he deserves a hug as well and holy hell is she strong for a old lady, almost cracking Dean’s ribs and smothering him in Channel Nº5.

“Now tell me, Dean, honey,” she begins, pulling back, a soft smile gracing her features, making her eyes crinkle even more at the corner, the flat brown of her eyes coming to life in amusement just for a moment “when are you going to settle down with a nice girl, hm? Men like yourself are hard to come by.”

“Mrs. Redford I really don’t-“

“Or a boy!”

What is it with today and people wanting Dean to choke on his tongue?!

“Don’t act so surprised dear,” she pats his arm sympathetically while he tries to catch his breath “I got around back in the day and let me tell you that girls dressed much better. Nothing wrong with leaving a little something to the imagination,” she chuckles, swinging her hips comically, making Dean smile with her “There you go! Such a beautiful smile on you. You should definitely wear it more often,” she advises with the wisdom only eighty year old ladies with dead dogs lying around have.

“See you later, Dean, Lady China as not be feeling too well,” she sighs “poor kitty. Honestly I don’t even know why I try anymore,” she complains, before entering the car and waving at Dean, speeding off to her nice little home.

Dean shakes his head to himself. That woman! An it must have been the fourth pet that she has him  do work on or so.  So far it was two dogs, a hamster and a goat. A bloody goat! she liked to call Milly and was “just the sweetest thing, ate all my good socks though”.

He likes Mrs. Redford, it’s a good change from the burly men that come in with big pieces of game, bragging about the huge fucking whole they put in the deer and how they expected Dean to handle it. Most times, they just wanted the heads as prize.

Dean goes back into his little shop, with the crooked sign upfront and the pieces of game displayed on the walls on the front room where the register was. He doesn’t really like this room, he much prefers the backroom which has much better light and the walls are free of dead animals, filled instead with some family photos and other silly things, like Sam’s kindergarten art, letters that grandfather Henry used to write them.

What can he say? He’s a sentimental guy, and just because he enjoys his job, the art of recreating something to imitate life, preserve death, however you’d like to look at it, it doesn’t necessarily mean that he enjoys having animals with their fake dead-eyes stare at him all goddam day long.

No matter though, it’s almost five and that means he gets to go home. He closes up the shop and gets in his baby, still beautiful as ever, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel and Metallica cranked up loudly so he can calm the fuck down.

It’s just flowers after all, it’s not like he’s going to ask the guy to marry him. Marry is dumb and honestly, the only perks he sees in it are financial and being able to visit your loed one in case they get in an accident or something of the sorts.

He wonders what Cas thinks of marriage and if maybe he’d be Dean’s exception. Everyone has an exception for everything and maybe his is Cas. Cas is an exception for a lot of things in Dean’s life.

The little flower shop comes into view with the bright green sign on top advertising Joshua’s Garden, Joshua being the owner, which Dean had met once. Nice fella too, and he means it in the most un-ironic way possible because he honestly doesn’t mind the guy, which can’t be said about the general population of the world.

With a few select exceptions, Dean likes to keep to himself, since most people are honestly not worth the effort.

He parks his baby in the corner before the shop, the time he’ll take walking there – which can’t possibly be more than three minutes – hopefully will allow him to find his balls and nut up.

It’s just Cas after all.

And ain’t that the tricky thought? Because it can’t possibly be _just_ Cas since Cas is so much more than a _just_. He’s more of an everything than a just, in Dean’s frank opinion. After all how can the way he laughs, low and throaty when he sees something that amuses him be a just, or his voice like he has been gargling gravel, nails and whiskey be a just, or the way his eyes crinkle in the corners, the way when he smiles he can see his gums and it makes his smiles so much better, because he knows those are the real deal, or the way he blushes so pretty sometimes when he looks at Dean, like he’s thinking about all the things he could to him or all the things Dean could do to Cas and he blushes because of it, the way his hair is always such a fucking mess and makes Dean’s hands itch to be the one to mess it up every goddamn morning. How can all of these things be a _just_.

Oh, God, he’s so fucked!

His breathing quickens just that one bit more when he steps through the threshold of the door and into the honestly amazing scented place. How he can walk in here and smell all these amazing things without his nose starting to itch is a mystery. He always had a very sensible nose. Could smell pie baking from three blocks away ever since he was five, or so his mother tells him.

“Dean!” Cas says happily and shit if he doesn’t sound like Christmas came early.

“Hey, Cas,” he mumbles, blushing like the virgin Cas turns him into.

Castiel closes the book he had been reading, something about angels, he notices, and slips his glasses off his nose, tucking them neatly in his shirt.

“What can I help you with?”

“Uh, Sammy wants flowers. A bouquet for his girl.”

Cas hums, getting to his feet and going around the counter, standing next to Dean with the most charming smile.

“What kind of bouquet?”

Dean only blinks at him, because how the hell is he supposed to know that? He’s not the one trying to impress a girl here.

Castiel laughs, low and throaty and everything nice, before moving around the little store and arranging a bouquet of roses.

“You can’t go wrong with roses,” he tells him “regardless of what they mean, roses are always the way to go.”

Dean hums and smiles right back.

“Roses mean love right?” he prompts, not wanting the conversation to end just then, craving Cas’s low voice and the way he sounds so dedicated when he talks about his flowers.

“That’s right! Every single flower in the shop means something. Innocence, bashfulness, sorrow, happiness. It’s quite interesting all the things you can say with them.”

Dean nods his head, he knows this. Even knows the meaning of a few of them. Also knows that when different colors mean different things.

He looks around and spots a pot of tulips. These ones he knows. They represent a declaration of love. Glancing at Cas arranging the flowers and wrapping them up nice and pretty makes him feel bold for a moment. He picks a tulip and gently places it next to the bouquet.

“This one too, please.”

Castiel glances down and nods “Good choice. Want me to put it in the bouquet as well?”

Dean shakes his head slightly “That’s for me.”

“Oh!” Cas drops his eyes “Someone special to give it to then?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, watching the way Cas presses his lips together, his movements becoming just a little more brusque.

“Well, they’re very lucky.” he says, handing the bouquet to Dean and muttering a price on it. Dean pays and picks up the tulip, Cas already opening his book to start reading it again.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls out, cheeks flaming. Shit, he’s such a goddamn girl. Castiel looks up at him, eyes without their usual brightness “here,” he mutters awkwardly, extending the tulip towards Cas.

Cas beams at him, taking the flower he’s offering “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nods awkwardly and beats an hasty retreat, encasing himself in the safety of his baby.

Castiel stands at the doorway waving at him, he starts the car, waves back and heads home.

The next day he has a tulip taped to his front door, and Cas winks at him on his way out the door and to his job. Dean may or may not stumble on his own feet and almost sprawling on his ass.

He goes to work, like he normally does and spends all day wrecking his brain for something to give Cas back.

He searches all day for something that seems fitting, spends the morning working on a little squirrel the golf club wants to use as a center piece, goes to lunch and gets back to work on a dear’s head a hunter had brought in a yesterday. It’s only when he’s on his way home and sees this little corner store he somehow managed to miss all this time. There’re colourful stuffed animals on display wearing cute little skirts and dresses and t-shirts. Somehow they seem just perfect to give Cas.

He stops by and gets out of the car, looking around for the perfect one to give Cas.

“Hello,” a cheery voice calls from the register. Dean turns to see a pretty redhead standing behind it with a novelty shirt that alludes to something nerdy “can I help you?”

He shakes his head once and dips his eyes down. Maybe he lacks a little in social skills, but meh who cares. He can function just fine.

He looks around until he finds a little bumblebee with a big smile, blue button eyes and a tutu around her body. It’s silly and perfect. He picks it up and pays for it, leaving the store with a smile.

In a snap decision he picks up a flower from someone’s window (whoops) and tucks it in the bumblebee’s skirt, placing it carefully on Cas’ doormat.

Cas smiles at him bright and flushes when he passes by him the next day, clutching the bumblebee under his arm as he leaves for work.

It becomes a thing somehow. Every other day, Dean will pick up a stuffed animal that range from crocodiles in Indiana Jones’ hats to pandas with t-shirts expressing how much they like you.

A month of cute little things left in Cas’ doorstep (sometimes with random flowers tucked next to them) passes before one of them does anything about it. And of course Castiel is the one who takes action.

It’s about midday and Dean’s close to his lunch break, sitting lazily on the front room with Vonnegut between his hands, when Castiel strides purposefully into his little shop, only sparing the death animals around them  before he gets up in Dean’s face, cheeks slightly red and a stubborn set to his jaw.

“Would you like to go out with me,” he demands more than asks.

Dean drops his book on the desk and stutters a little “Y-yeah,” he manages, swallows down and nuts up “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, patting himself on the back for his eloquence.

Castiel smiles “Good, I guess we could, uh, have lunch?”

“Yeah lunch sounds good,” Dean nods, smiling right back and did he just got himself a date with Cas? Wow, go him!

“I can pick something up? From the burger place and bring it here. I trust that there is somewhere without dead animals staring at us where we could eat.”

Dean nods “Yeah, my back room is animal free and burgers sound nice,” he says, biting his lip slightly and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Great!”

Cas leans forward and pecks him on the cheek, turning on his heel and heading out of the door, turning Dean into a puddle on the floor. Jesus Christ, he’s such a goddamn girl it’s embarrassing.

He abandons Vonnegut in turn of watching Cas cross the street, and goddamn if the other man isn’t skipping a little bit.

Dean realizes one second before it happens that he’s not paying attention to the road, he’s not paying attention, and there’s a car going too fast to stop in time.

“Cas!” he yells, but it’s too late, too god damn late. The car tries to break, turn away from the man in the middle of the street, but there’s really nowhere else to go.  The car hits Cas mere inches before it manages to come into a halt, sending him flying a couple of meters and landing hard on the floor, his neck laying in a odd angle and shit no NO! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!

Before he knows what he’s doing, Dean’s running towards Cas, falling hard to his knees and there’s going to be bruises there tomorrow, but shit SHIT CAS CAN’T BE DEAD. HE CAN’T!

FUCKFFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

Dean coups his face tenderly, doing his damnest not to move his neck, ‘cause he can still be okay, he can still- he sobs. Shit, he didn’t even realize that he was crying.

“Cas,” he whispers, bringing his face closer to the other man’s even as Cas’ eyes stay wide open and un-staring. Completely turned off from reality “Cas come on, baby, you get move for me. Blink, something. Come on,” he begs “please. Please baby. I’ll do anything, just move for me.”

Dean reaches down and wraps his hand around Cas’ “Squeeze my fingers,” he demands even as another sob breaks through “please Cas. I’ll bring you silly stuffed animals for the rest of our lives if you squeeze my hand,” he babbles “Come on! We had so much to do, we’re not done yet, not even close to done, please baby. We were going to go on dates, and make love. Go on vacations and get drunk on beaches so we could watch the sea and I could make bad poetry about your eyes. Move together and I’ll make you mine, I promise. Put a ring on your finger,” he sniffles, chokes back another sob “and I’d find out all the little dumb things you like and do them for you everyday. We could grow old together and yell at children to get the fuck out of out laws, maybe even get a stupid cat that would get fur everywhere and make me sneeze. WE ARE NOT DONE, COME ON CASTIEL!” he begs.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. He snaps his head and snarls at the man, trying to take him away from Cas.

“Sir, we need to examine him,” Dean blinks and notices the man’s uniform. EMT.

“Can- can I go in the back with him?”

The man presses his lips together “You need to let him go now. Please, sir.”

Dean feels compelled to tell him to back the fuck off, but instead he nods and let’s go of Cas, taking a step back and watching as the men check his pulse and load him into a stretcher a white sheet covering him head to toe.

He takes a step forward to follow, but a broad hand stops him “I’m sorry, sir. He’s gone.”

The doors of the ambulance shut with a tone of finality before it drives off, sirens turned off.

«»

He spends the next day hiding under the covers, ignoring his brother’s calls and the insistent pounding on the door. It’ll go away eventually.

Dean’s not ashamed to say that he cries. He cries until there’s no more tears and he’s standing on the edge of dehydration.

Staying in bed seems a much better alternative than going out in the real world where there is no Castiel to blush and smile so pretty at him, to go back to his job preserving death things. And then it hits him.

He fucking preserves death things, living things! He can preserve life, he can make something good with what he does. He can get his Castiel back, because maybe, just maybe, if he’s body is treated well and cared for then his soul will have no intentions of splitting into the universe, maybe it’ll stay and Castiel will still be able to feel everything nice Dean does for him. There’s the chance that they can still be happy together.

Now, he just needs to recover Cas’ body and build him from the ground up, make him a new body that will last longer than the one he currently occupies that is only meat and guts and blood. He’ll make him out of love and everything nice.

He’ll have his Castiel back.

«»

Finding where they’re keeping Cas before his family has done the necessary arrangements for the funeral should honestly have been harder. Picking the lock of the place and finding the drawer where they stashed his angel should have been goddamn impossible, instead Dean finds himself unlocking the door with practiced skill and quickly finding his love.

Castiel is laying down neatly, eyes closed and arms parallel to his body, legs spread a couple of inches apart.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greats with a small smile, stroking his cheek, the one where he has road rash which is a bitch to get rid of “I’m taking you home, baby,” he promises, dragging the stretcher he brought with him and lining it with Cas’ drawer, so he can make the transition smoother to everyone.

“Easy now,” he grunts, half picking, half dragging Castiel onto the stretcher. Dean has the presence of mind to cover him with a sheet before closing the drawer back up.

He starts rolling the stretcher through the little funerary home to the back door and into the van he has waiting when the door leading to the front of the funerary home opens and a gawky man comes through, freezing as soon as he sees Dean.

“What the fuck are you doing man?” he demands, reaching in his pocket and taking out his phone “I’m calling the cops.”

Dean holds his breath, mind racing for an answer of what to do next. If he lets him call the police then they’ll take Cas away. They’ll lock him up and then what.

In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a scalpel and almost without thinking, he lets go of the stretcher and grabs for it, moving towards the man and swatting the phone out of his hand, making it clunk on the floor, before he steps on it with his heel, effectively putting it out of order.

“What are you-“

Dean grabs he man’s shoulder and pushes his scalpel against his stomach. He buries it there, watching as the man’s face contorts in pain, a yelp making its way out of his throat as his hand becomes soaked in blood. And then he does it again and again and again, until when he looks into those green eyes, he can’t see light anymore, only the flat unblinking stare that death brings to a person.

He lets him fall in a heap to the ground and turns back.

The rest of the morgue, or whatever they call this back room is too neat, he thinks. When the police arrive, and he knows that they will now that there is a body lying behind him soaked in blood they will also notice the only body missing.

Dean bites his lip before deciding to just give it hell and starts trashing the place, toppling things over, breaking things and destroying the records of everybody along with the tags on their toes, switching some and moving some bodies around, getting to the point of throwing some in the furnace on the farthest side of the room.

When he’s nice and done he wipes his hands on his pants and goes back to his Cas, rolling him right into the back of his van and using some rope to secure him. It just wouldn’t do to have him tumbling around.

He drives right to his store where he has space to keep Castiel nice and cool and while he prepares everything to make him a new body.

It may take a while, but he knows that he’ll come out perfect.

«»

It takes him approximately one week of working to get everything perfect. He decided to go a bit old school and broke into Castiel’s apartment to steal all of the stuffed animals he had ever given to him. He gutted those and took out the foam to stuff Cas with. Dean figured that those little honeys were filled with love and that’s what he was looking for to do with Cas.

Human skin is a fucking bitch to preserve and mount across the mold, but he makes do with a little bit of artful stitching and painting. There’s road rash on one side of his face and on his back, and he decides that he could maybe do something regarding his back, maybe work some black feathers until they draw wings.

Castiel is an angel’s name. He went through an angel phase when he was about sixteen. They just seemed such badass warriors that he couldn’t help to be somehow drawn to them.

He had a bit of trouble finding the perfect shade of blue for Cas’s eyes. Had to special order what set him back about two days, but it was all in name of love, so it was okay.

And now, now Castiel looked perfect, skin stretched over the perfect mold Dean had made of him, belly stuffed full of love, the only part giving away that he has a new body are his articulations, that Dean in a bout of inspiration had used the basic mechanics of dolls and made them bendable, so he could position Cas in whatever pose strikes his fancy and not only that one pose. There’s no skin covering his shoulders or his elbows or his ankles or his wrists or his knees or part of his hips, because after you take care of the skin it won’t do to stretch it and bend it repeatedly.

He thinks that it was quite smart of him, turning his lover into a life sized doll. This way it will be easier to move him from place to place, to curl around him when he sleeps and sit him at the table for breakfast and dinner.

Dean also makes sure that Castiel’s hair is the perfect kind of messy before he preserves it too.

With a bit of paint and a delicate twist of his wrist he manages to colour the articulations the same colour as his skin, so it doesn’t look so obvious.

Castiel gets dressed up in some clothes Dean stole from his apartment too. Some silk black panties that are just perfect on him, jeans and a sweater which is a little baggy on him, sneakers and he’s ready to go.

Just to be sure that no one would recognize him Dean slips some sunglasses on him and a floppy hat that hides most of his face before, sitting him down at the wheeling chair he managed to get his hands on, bending his knees, so his feet rest comfortably on the feet rest and laying his arms on the arm rest. It looks inconspicuous enough that no one will think to stop him on his way.

His Castiel is a perfect image of what his live body used to be, the exact same amount of muscle, delicately carved features with a strong jaw and cheekbones that could cut diamonds. His eyes the right shade of blue, and well, if Dean made his dick a little bit fuller, a little bit longer so he can have a good time fucking himself on it than that’s his business.

«»

Let it be known that Dean Winchester is a man of word, and when he said he was going to treat Castiel right he fucking meant it.

When he first arrives to his apartment, he immediately gets rid of the sunglasses and the ridiculous hat, before he gives Cas the grand tour, and he does it, leaning forward and whispering his explanation of everything close to Castiel’s hear, lips brushing it ever so often.

It’s the Cas’ first day so they settle on the couch, Cas’s arm over Dean’s shoulder as they watch TV, Dean’s hand tracing distracted patterns on his thigh. After all, he wants to ease in Cas into the new living arrangement and fucking him straight away just wouldn’t do.

He’s a fucking gentleman, so the first few days he only cuddles, in bed or in the couch sits him in one of the kitchen chairs when he takes his breakfast or dinner and kisses him chastely on the lips everyday before he leaves to work, living Cas in their room to rest up while he works on other things, none of them ever turning as perfect as the masterpiece that his Castiel is, but still his job is satisfactory.

Sammy who had been worried sick about him, after the two weeks or so of silence seems to finally ease off, inviting him over to dinner. Dean says no every time. Of course he does, Castiel could get lonely and he wouldn’t want that.

He knows Cas ain’t a kept man, nor Dean wants to turn him into one, so every day before he goes home he buys a tulip, sometimes a whole bouquet that he sets in the center of the table or in their room. Cas must miss his flowers after all. And every other day he comes back home with one of those little stuffed animals until their bed is crowded with them and he has to start keeping some in different parts of the house.

Cas likes it like that he thinks.

But the thing he loves to do the most is every three days or so, when he takes two hours, sometimes a little more to bathe Cas with a wet sponge making sure he’s nice and clean everywhere, being extra careful with the road rash. Before patting him dry with the softest towel he owns.

It’s in the second time he does that that his careful control slips. After all, he’s not made of stone and Cas is sitting on the floor of his bathroom looking perfectly delectable.

You can’t really blame him for kissing Cas until he’s breathless, trailing kisses down his neck and collarbone, two fingers already shoved up his ass, scissoring himself open as he moans a little. Can’t blame him at all for sinking into Cas slowly, biting his lip and panting as he bottoms out. Starting to move slowly, picking up rhythm and angling his hips just right. He was smart when he made him, dick just right to find Dean’s prostate and hit it in almost every stroke downwards. You cannot in any way blame him when he clutches Cas’s shoulders and pants against his mouth, sneaking kisses before he has to catch his breath again, until he can feel himself on the edge, until he balls tighten up and with a well-aimed thrust downwards that strikes his prostrate he comes with a grunt.

Dean lays his head on Cas’s shoulder, panting hard as he comes down from his high. Laughing a bit and telling Cas how they’ll have to start the bathing thing all over again and Dean’s not minimally fazed about that.

Cas stays with Dean a long while. And Dean does his best to keep him happy.

For once in his goddamn life, he’s content, he’s fucking ecstatic because he has this amazing job and this amazing person that he loves with him for the rest of his life.

Cas stays with him for about two months, before shit goes down the drain. And like most catastrophes go, it comes quietly and unannounced.

It’s been a long day and Dean’s enjoying his afternoon on the couch as they enjoy a documentary about sharks, Cas’ head on Dean’s lap so he can runs his hands through his hair.

Someone knocks on the door and Dean has a moment to panic, before he yells that he’s not decent and puts Castiel on their bedroom with the promise that he’ll be right back and a tender kiss on the lips.

He goes back to the door and opens it slightly, seeing two men dresses in uniforms, two squad cars on the street behind them and what looks like four another cops.

“Dean Winchester?” one of them prompts.

“Yes? What’s this about?”

The man throws his door wide and slams him against the wall face first.

“Dean Winchester, you are under arrest for the murder of Garth Fitzgerald the IV. You have the right to remain sil-“

“What the fuck! No!” Dean pulls on his restrains, “You can’t fuck do this. We were supposed to have the rest of our fucking lives.” he throws his head back, hitting the policeman right on the nose. The man stumbles back and the others immediately jump  him, throwing him on the floor, one of them pressing his knee in the bottom of his spine to keep him still and the other grabbing his arms as they slap the cuffs on him.

The officers pull him up and start leading him away even as he struggles, tries to kick free, but to no use. They shove him in the back of the squad car, all the while he screams and kicks.

“Cas! No,” he spits at them “you fucking can’t.”

“Boss,” he hears one of them call from the doorway “you should come see what this psycho had in his room.”

“Don’t you dare fucking touching him,” he growls, teething biting air in a clear threat.

That’s the last he ever sees of Cas and it isn’t fucking fair. They were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. HE ONLY GOT HIM BACK.

This time around, Dean doesn’t break. His rage boils in his veins and he knows he’ll get out and get back to Cas. How else is he supposed to live.

«»

They lock him up in a mental facility proclaiming insanity. His brother proclaiming insanity for him, since Dean hasn’t uttered a single word since the arrest.

He gets labeled as violent and uncooperative. High escape risk.

It’s been a year since they lock him up and so far he has managed to almost escape four times. One of those getting as far as the graveyard they buried Cas in before the cops caught up with him and threw him back in. He has also managed to severely harm about eleven caretaker s, lunch ladies, doctors and other patients, before they shoved him on a straight jacket.

They tell him he’s insane and when he almost kills one of his roommates because the son of a bitch had called Cas a bitch they decided to put him in a facility for the criminally insane.

They keep telling him he’s insane, a sick psycho, gets his rocks on with death people.

He just thinks he loves too much, and he manages to prove as much, in the sixteenth month after they locked him up, standing dirty in Cas gravestone, earth surrounding him as he breaks open the casket.

And there he is. His Castiel, dressed in a sharp suit and perfect as ever. He really did an amazing job.

“Honey,” he whispers with a wide smile, and maybe he’s half mad “I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNA!


End file.
